I Saw Dean Winchester With The Devil
by starlingnight
Summary: There's a demon in Dean and Sam can't get it out, except things might be more complicated than that.
1. Chapter 1

It looks like it's actually turning out to be a nice day for once -the sun's shining properly for the first time in ages, for one thing. Sam has taken off his jacket to feel the warmth on his back and Dean is leaning on the Impala, humming Black Sabbath and watching the clouds. This is the sort of day where they don't think about tomorrow much, because tomorrow, as things go, generally has a decent chance of dumping yet another truckload of awful crap on them. It's probably best not to ruin the mood before something ruins it for them.

Sam's looking through the trunk of the Impala, searching for a book he can't quite remember the name of, when he looks around at Dean, who's tearing open a packet of salt to shake on his fries. Sam sees Dean spill salt on his hands and frown, brushing it off. The grains leave little red marks on his skin. The hair stands up on the back of Sam's neck and he thinks – hang on - _what did I just see?_

The moment's passed, leaving him wondering if he'd imagined it, and Dean's still chomping away at his fries. Sam hasn't forgotten it, though, and it's sitting there in his head like – doubt. Did I imagine it, he wonders, or am I in deep trouble here? Book forgotten, Sam flips up the weapons compartment.

He shouldn't be thinking like this - suspicious of his own brother when it's _Sam _with a track record for this kind of thing. But he's a hunter too, not just a guilt-tripping wreck. Paranoia has been one of the only things keeping his family alive for a long time. Sam bites his lip and decides that looking like an idiot is, on the whole, a lot better than possibly riding shotgun with a monster. Bent double over the trunk, he watches his brother out of the corner of his eye. When Dean looks away for a moment, Sam grabs a flask of holy water.

"How're the fries," he says, looking up and surreptitiously unscrewing the flask. "Christo."

Dean flinches and blinks. "Sam - what -?"

There's an incredulous smile on Dean's face and it says _dude, what the hell, what'd I do. _Sam ignores it. No time, and oh Christ he shouldn't have done that - now it knows he knows, all because he wanted a little peace of mind. But there's no time for thinking. Sam knows what he has to do, even though the world's shifted sideways and left him reeling because Dean's eyes have turned beetle-black.

Sam rips off the cap and flings the water at Dean. _There_. It hisses and curls into a halo of steam where it touches his skin, and that gets rid of any vague hope Sam might have had that the eyes were a hallucination or trick of the light. His blood runs cold.

He thinks, _shit, _I really, _really_ didn't want to be right this time. But it doesn't matter what he _wants_. A demon's found its way past the tattoo and into his brother, and he'd thought they were safe from this and this does kind of scare him, but plenty of things have been doing that lately if he's honest (which he tries to be, really, but no accounting for circumstances). He grabs Ruby's knife from the trunk. The demon's probably not expecting him to use it, and it'd be right about that (thank god), but it's all he's got, and he has to make it believe he would. No choice.

"What the fuck, Sam?" he yells, breathing heavily, wiping the sizzling water off his face and looking like he can't decide between confused or pissed.

Sam adjusts his grip on the knife. "You're not my brother," he says.

"Dude, _what," _the demon says, and he just sounds incredulous. Sam makes a lunge for it, but the demon dodges back neatly, holding Dean's hands out. "Wait! Sam, hang on –"

Sam notices the demon's hand creeping around to the back of his pants. He knows there's a loaded gun there because he saw Dean put it there back when he was Dean – if he _was_. He moves to intercept it but it's too late. Dean's pretty damn fast and the gun's pointed at his head in a matter of seconds. Sam stops.

"Sam," the demon says, "_chill."_

Sam licks his lips and thinks about the twinge in his blood, just out of reach. This demon could be gone in a matter of seconds. If only he could. There's no time to push down the idea properly like he normally does so he just lets it flicker out of reach. It'll be back.

"I don't know – " The demon swallows, passes its free hand over its mouth. "I don't know what's going on, but I promise I'm Dean. Okay? It's me. There has to be something else going on here. Calm down."

"Yeah, okay," Sam says. He thinks about the first rule in the book, the easiest to remember and hardest to master_. _He's failed before. He's not_going _to fail again. Demons _lie._

"Sam, it's me," Dean says. "Please, just…okay. Look, I get this looks…uh, suspicious. But you've gotta give me a chance, alright? Just. Listen."

Sam squares his jaw. "Are you gonna shoot?" he says. The demons don't want him _dead_. "Put the gun down and we'll talk." Not really, but.

The thing quirks Dean's lips, and he wants it to be him, so badly. "And if you're the Sam I know, you're too damn good a hunter to keep your word on that," he says. "Sorry, man." His eyes flick nervously from Sam to the car. "Sam, I know you don't wanna listen but I need you to hear me out. Please."

"You're going to get out of him," Sam says, thumb running up and down the knife handle. "Or, well, you know this can kill you dead. What's it gonna be?"

The demon snorts, shifting its grip on the gun. "You wouldn't use that, Sammy, just like I'm not gonna shoot." Sam tightens his grip on the knife reflexively. "You're not about to kill me. Put it down." It sounds uncertain - good. Sam has to take all the uncertainty he can get.

"Don't be so sure about that," Sam says. "Answer the question."

"Just _trust _me, Sam," it says.

"I don't trust monsters," Sam says.

He starts forward, quick movements, reaches up to twist the demon's gun arm behind his back, but he's pretty damn fast too. There's a brief tussle and Sam manages to disarm him. The gun goes spinning away. Then the demon surges forward, gets his arm free and brings it swinging around to smash his fist into Sam's solar plexus. Sam falls backwards, gasping for breath, clutching at the knife handle for dear life. The demon swings again and Sam blocks the punch, but a sweep to the legs has him on his back. They're rolling on the ground, punching and kicking and scrabbling for the knife, when Sam feels a sharp pain in his side. He's high on adrenaline, blood pumping through his ears, and it doesn't register at first. Then he realizes the demon's pulled Dean's own knife on him. There's a deep cut curving across his side to his belly, his clothes torn and blood seeping out. I'll need to sew that up, he thinks.

"Shit!" the demon says, drawing back, and the blood's roaring through Sam and he lashes out on instinct. The serrated edge skates along Dean's collarbone, drawing a dark line of blood. He scrambles back.

"You wouldn't," he pants out, wild-eyed. "You wouldn't kill me, Sam-"

Sam catches him with a blow to the chin.

The demon folds. Lying there on the ground, it could be Dean if Sam doesn't look too closely at his wet skin, still sizzling.

He can't tear his eyes away from the blood soaking Dean's shirt.

x

"So, uh. Is begging or pleading gonna help at all?" the demon says, tilting his head, ignoring the drops of holy water currently hissing their way down his nose. He's kind of smirking in a disbelieving way, like it's just so hard to comprehend why Sam would want to tie him to a chair.

"No," Sam says, because he's not completely incompetent.

"Good, 'cause I wasn't planning on trying." The demon starts to jiggle his knee, eyes flicking restlessly over the room. Sam's pushed the beds into the corners to make room for the hasty devil's trap – he'd have preferred to find an abandoned house or something, but he'd figured it was safer to freak out room service when the demon could wake up any minute. "C'mon, let's get this over with. Unless you've changed your mind and decided to just _listen_ to me. I'm your _brother, _Sam. It's seriously actually me."

"That's going to work about as well as the last couple hundred times you said it," he says, even though it is _exactly _Dean, it's so Dean that he wants to look away cause it hurts so bad. If Dean were here, Sam thinks, he would say – think. Don't be an idiot. Don't trust a demon.

Sam's not gonna make that mistake again, not gonna do that to Dean again. No. He's just not. He can't let that happen. He – he _won't._

"Okay, Sam," the demon sighs. "Go on, get this show on the road."

That just makes him want to deck it, but he resists, unscrewing the lid on the fresh salt canister. This, _this _issomething Dean won't mind when he's back in the picture.

"That's right, read the fucking exorcism again," the demon growls. "And I promise you, it's gonna work about as well as the _last hundred times you said it. _Oh but no, it _has _to do something this time, you just need a little more _salt –"_

Sam empties half the canister into the demon's face. He's going to fix this. This is just another case. This time, this is how he saves his brother.

Don't listen, don't trust – and yes, it's a little easier now, now that something's snapped in Dean's eyes, all the humanity drained out until it's like there are two dark holes carved into his head.

"Dude," the demon gasps. "That _kills."_

Sam rolls his shoulders, stifling a wince as the movement pulls at his new stitches, and steps forward, careful not to scuff the devil's trap chalked on the floor. He leans in close.

"Tell me," Sam says, "just tell me what you've done. Tell me how you've locked yourself in."

The demon grits Dean's teeth. "Does it being _my actual body _count? Sam, just…" It exhales loudly. "Trust me. Okay? Please, trust me. I'm me, not a demon. I don't know what happened – it must've been Crowley, or Zachariah, we must've got busted, passed by one of their mooks _– _but listen, you've gotta listen, it's -"

So this is the game the demon's playing. He's not going to win, anyway.

"Is it something to do with the tattoo?" Sam interrupts. "A spell? You know you're going to tell me." He tests the edge of Ruby's knife with his finger.

"You wanna take off my shirt again?" says the demon. "Kinky, Sammy, but I don't do that shit for free."

Sam says, "Shut your mouth, you black-eyed son of a bitch, or I will make you."

He shuts its mouth, but he doesn't look pissed. Just raises an appreciative eyebrow.

Sam's jaw tenses and he turns away. Okay. Okay. He stifles the urge to run his hands through his hair. Don't show any weakness, don't let him know you're out of your depth. None of the exorcisms are working and he hasn't found a binding mark in any of the usual places. He walks out of Dean's line of sight and sits on the bed. He needs to calm down, think of this as any other hunt. This isn't the worst thing that could happen by a long shot, isn't the worst thing that could be possessing him, either - so _think _and you can fix this. There's always a way, there has to be.

The demon must be binding itself in somehow, maybe using a spell of some sort that isn't burned into the skin. Sam had checked the tattoo and it was intact, so even though it's just got plain black eyes, nothing special, probably has something powerful backing it up enough to get past.

Sam looks back at Dean and decides he needs help.

Flipping open his cell, he hits contacts and calls. "Hey, Cas," he says, fiddling with a hole in the bedspread.

"Sam? What is it?"

"Um, it's…" He looks over at the chair. "It's about Dean."

The demon will be listening for sure. Goddamn but he hates this. Even though it's someone else looking out of his eyes, it's still Dean's face, Dean's voice, and every time Sam looks at it no matter how hard he tries he sees Dean there. He supposes it's time for the tables to be turned, given what happened with the Meg demon a couple years back. Thinking about what it must have been like for Dean, knowing what it's like now with the situation flipped, makes the bile rise in his throat.

There's silence on the other end.

"Cas? You there?"

"Yes," Castiel says. "I was waiting for you to continue." He clears his throat. "Uh, was that wrong?"

"Oh, uh," Sam says. "No, it's fine. Um. About Dean." He stops again.

"Yes?" Cas prods.

"Right," Sam says, and then the words come out in a rush. "He's been possessed by a demon and I can't get it out."

"That's 'cause there is no demon, jackass!" the demon yells over its shoulder.

"Dean is possessed?" Cas says sharply, then he pauses. "Was that him?"

"Yeah, no, uh –"

"He said there is no demon," Cas says. "Are you -"

"I'm not kidding around," Sam says, giving in and fisting a hand in his hair, pushing his forehead into the heel of his palm. "Look, I don't know what game it's playing, but _christo _affects it. Salt and holy water too. So all signs point to demon. I got it restrained but exorcisms aren't working and I couldn't find a binding mark –"

"Where are you?" Cas cuts in, and Sam rattles off their location. There's more silence.

"Cas?" he says tentatively.

"Yes?" says the angel in his ear.

Sam jumps up and flails away, tripping over a trailing sheet and falling back onto the bed. "Jesus _christ!"_

"Cas!" the demon says joyfully. "Thank god. Get over here, man."

Castiel stands up stiffly and goes over to peer at Dean closely, Sam trailing behind him. The angel's eyes narrow and his mouth tightens.

"Sam, you were right," he says. "That's not Dean."

The demon slumps like all the strength's been drained out of him. "Cas," it says pleadingly, "can't you see-?" And Sam fights down the urge to go to him, because he can't go along with this game it's playing, as if it can convince him it's Dean just by refusing to give in.

Cas stretches out a hand and grips Dean's forehead. Then his brow furrows. He looks over his shoulder at Sam.

"I can't think why the exorcism didn't work," he says. "Either there's no binding spell on this demon, or it's invisible to me."

The demon snorts. "No shit."

Sam swallows. "So…there's some _serious_ mojo behind this, then."

"The requisite mojo is probably serious indeed," Cas says gravely.

"Can you exorcise it? Or kill it?"

"No," says Castiel, arms dangling awkwardly by his sides. He stares at Dean helplessly. "I…I can't. I can't even read its mind."

"Right," Sam says. He looks at the wall for a moment. "Okay. Cas, can you go to Bobby's and hit the books for me? I'll stay here and see if I can get anything else out of it."

"I'm still here, dude," the demon says, and Sam clenches his jaw so hard it aches.

"Yeah, unfortunately," he says tightly.

Cas stays standing there for a moment, looking around awkwardly.

"Spit it out."

"I assume you do not want me to actually… strike Bobby's books."

"No," Sam says. "No, that was an expression."

"Just making sure. I'll be back soon," Cas says, and vanishes.

Sam pulls up a chair in front of the demon and looks at it. "Christo," he says, just to remind himself that's not his brother. It snorts.

"Okay. Fine. What do you want me to do, Sam," he says. His black eyes glitter. Sam's skin is crawling but he keeps his face very hard and still. He drums the knife against his leg. Tap-tap-tap-_tap. _Tap-tap-tap-_tap._

"You can make a start by not trying to sound like Dean," he says.

The demon raises an eyebrow. "Uh, no can do. Got another request?"

"Tell me," says Sam, "what you did."

"Or what?" says Dean, and he smirks lazily. "What are you gonna do, Sammy? Are you gonna kill me?

Sam keeps his breathing even. This is the hard part. He's got to sell it, though – it's the only weapon he's got.

"Don't think I won't," he says.

The demon sniggers. "Oh, that's a scary face. Yeah, _right_."

"Okay," Sam says, "here's the deal. I don't want you in my brother. I want to hunt with him and I need him to help me stop the apocalypse."

The demon's face is blankly insolent as he looks up at Sam through narrowed eyes.

"But I can't get you out," Sam says. "So either you're going to leave, or I'm going to kill you. Dean would understand." And there's a third option there, too. It's itching underneath his skin with every beat of his heart. Except it's not really an option at all.

"Oh, he wouldn't," the demon says. "Believe me."

"Haven't you been checking the demonic noticeboard in hell or whatever?" Sam says. "Dean and I, we're not like we were. I don't want to kill him but I bet he doesn't want a demon in him forever either, so I'll do what I have to do and that's the truth. And sooner or later, I'm gonna be done trying to save him." As if he has the right to say that. He leans forward. "So get out of him, now. Don't make me say it again."

"You think you could kill your own brother? No, Sam. You wouldn't kill me," the demon says, but he's not meeting his gaze this time. Sam feels like he shouldn't be this good at lying to Dean's face.

"How do you know," he says coolly.

"You and me, we – just – you _won't, _okay? How am I even having this conversation. Look, Sam, quit playin' around and _listen._"

"Don't think I'm letting a demon stay alive for any longer than I have to," Sam says. "I can learn from my mistakes."

Dean meets his gaze with a shit-eating grin. "Fine," he says. "I'm gonna call that bluff. Go ahead, Sam. I'm not getting out of this. If this is gonna happen, then do it." He laughs as Sam clenches his jaw. "I'm ready, man. I've been ready for a while."

Sam hisses out a breath and massages his temples. Okay. Maybe it'll chicken out at the last second. He gets to his feet.

"C'mon, Sammy," the demon says, taunting, jiggling Dean's leg. "You can do it." He grins disarmingly. "I _believe_ in you –"

Sam forgets about scaring it. He forgets about pretending to kill it, forgets about keeping his cool. He spins around and smashes his fist into its cheekbone, the impact jarring up his arm, and Dean's head snaps back sickeningly. He flexes his fists, heaving in deep breaths, rapidly backing away.

God damn it.

"Fuck, Sam, that hurt," the demon says. "Well. Don't stop now. Knife's right there." He's just goading him now.

Sam ignores it. Paces a tight circle around it until the phone rings and he picks up.

"Cas?"

"There is nothing," Cas says. "I have found nothing."

"That was quick, are you sure?" Sam says tersely. He's the _angel. _Shouldn't he have found _something-_

"I have found nothing," he repeats.

"And by nothing you mean…?"

"I mean I have searched Bobby's library, examined every page of every relevant book and found nothing. I will continue to search for a solution."

"There _will _be something," Sam says, his mouth dry.

"What if there isn't," Cas says.

"There will be," Sam repeats.

"Yes," Cas says. "Yes, Sam. There will be."

Sam flips the phone shut. Demon's called his bluff, the angel's come up with zilch. Okay. _Okay. _He paces a tight circle around the chair Dean's tied in.

"So what're you going to do now?" the demon says restlessly. "Gonna let me go already?"

"If Cas doesn't find anything," says Sam, "you know you're gonna die."

"We've been through this, Sam," the demon says, "we both know you're not going to stab me with that –"

Then he stops, and goes deathly still.

"You wouldn't," he says.

"Wouldn't what?" Sam says like he's playing dumb. Honestly, he hadn't even let that be a real option. Now it's crowding into his head like a clingy ex-girlfriend.

"Don't start that shit again, Sammy, no, just don't. Please. Not for me," the demon says. "Don't. If you want to save me you won't do it. _Please."_

Sam feels a sudden rush of energy. _A weak point. _This is the demon scared, out of control. It doesn't want him on demon blood because – maybe because that'll work.

"You're in luck," Sam says, "'cause I'm not sucking down Dean's blood. You've got time to change your mind."

"I don't give a shit, Sam, don't drink _any! _You are _done _with that, don't you dare, don't you do that!_"_

"You _really _don't wanna be exorcised, huh?" says Sam.

"No, look – I've got this figured out, at least – kind of, okay?" the demon says. "War. It's like War, remember that? He made us see demons where there weren't any. It's like that. I'm cursed, or this is one of Zachariah's bullshit plans to make me say yes to Michael or something. C'mon, Sam, I'm telling the _truth_!"

Sam licks his lips. But – it's _just _like a demon. Reacts to salt, holy water, and Cas took one look and knew, just like that.

So one way it's a demon with something powerful backing it up. The other way it's Dean - cursed by something powerful. Sam doesn't like either of those. He stares at his brother's body in the chair. But he'd know, right? If it was Dean? Those black eyes – and demons _lie -_

He doesn't know. He runs his hands through his hair again. He's a hunter, not _stupid. _It's just that he can't stop the tempting doubt in the back of his head, whispering at him, chipping away at his training. This demon is either Dean or Oscar-winning material. But those black eyes, the sizzling skin. He shouldn't be listening to it at all. He needs to know.

He can't do this.

"Sorry," he says. He goes to pack his stuff.

"No!" Dean shouts. The _demon_. "Sammy, NO!"

Sam picks up his jacket and duffel.

"Don't _leave, _Sam, don't you –" The demon presses against the bindings. "Just stay, stay here -"

It knows exactly what to say, he thinks dazedly. "Wait for me," he says and turns to go.

"Come _back_!" Dean calls out.

He walks out the door, watching the demon the whole way, careful not to disturb the salt line. All the feigned emotion drains out of its face and it just slumps.

He gets in the car and hits the gas. He needs to think, figure this out. He has to.

This is how he saves his brother, this time.

x

By the time Castiel returns to the motel room, Sam is gone. The demon's head is lolling back bonelessly and it's staring at the ceiling. He can see its real face under Dean's when he looks, and the way it shifts under the light makes him feel nauseous in the pit of his body's gut.

"You came," the demon says, sounding surprised, head rolling forward again.

"I shouldn't have," Cas says.

"I'm glad you did, anyway," the demon says. "Look. I know I'm a big bad demon and all, I'm using that badass motherfucker Dean Winchester as a meatsuit, you can't exorcise me and all that crap. I don't care. You have to let me go, or Sam is going to do something drastic. You listen to me, Cas, if you can't exorcise me he's gonna do it himself. He's gonna drink demon blood, you know he is, and I _can't_ let him. Not for me. So you _let me go_."

Cas watches him.

"He will drink it anyway, if I let you go," he says. "He will hunt you. And that way you will be on the loose and we will lose Dean."

"At least this way I have a chance of stopping him," the demon says in a low voice. "Let me go, Cas, you know you can trust me, _it's me."_

Castiel thinks about Sam – thinks about how he screamed. He thinks about opening the door to Bobby Singer's panic room. He let him go. That, as Dean would say, is on him. He keeps his face blank, turns away from the demon. Can't let it see his weakness. He feels helpless, stripped of his power, unable to reach out a hand and simply burn it out of Dean. Would Sam drink demon blood even after everything to do that? Sam isn't there so he can't ask him, but Cas can ask himself.

"I will be watching," Cas says. "If you are lying, if you hurt anyone – if you hurt Dean, or Sam –"

"I'm gonna do as little hurting as I can manage, dude, don't worry. _Trust_ me."

"I can't," Cas says.

"Can't," the demon says, "or won't?"

Castiel clenches his body's hands, which hang like awkward weights at his sides, and looks at the demon. It shifts uncomfortably as he watches it for some reason but he keeps looking anyway, not really bothering to blink. He's not sure what he's looking for.

After a minute, he steps forward. His shoes tread over the devil's trap, scuffing it, and he leans forward to loosen the bindings.

_Neither, I suppose, _he thinks.

"You can find him?" he asks.

"Always," the demon says.

x

Sam drives with his foot to the floor and his hands clenched to the wheel so hard his knuckles are white, because that way he can pretend even to himself that he has a single fucking clue what he's doing. Find a demon, maybe. Lock it in the trunk of the Impala, open it up at the pulse points and suck it dry. He fights down the urge to retch.

He has to save Dean but he doesn't know how. Tracking down a demon alone, no Dean at his back – it would take too long, days maybe. He feels jittery, spiked on adrenaline. He wants to lock down into calm icy focus but he can't. He thinks he knows where that will lead him.

Sam doesn't know what to do. So he takes out his cell phone, letting off the gas a bit, and scrolls through the contacts. He calls Cas again.

"Hey, Cas. Look –"

"You called," says Cas, sounding surprised.

"Huh?"

"I intended to call you but I didn't. I didn't think that you would answer."

Why? "Ah, yeah. Sorry about bailing," Sam says. "Look, I need some time to think. Can you watch Dean?"

"Don't," Cas says, sharp fear tinging his voice. "Sam, whatever you're thinking, don't do it."

"I'm not thinking anything," Sam protests.

"Where are you?"

"On the road."

Cas lets out a breath into the speaker.

"Cas," Sam says. "Did something happen."

"Sam, the demon escaped."

Sam loses control for a second and the car lurches off the road. Heart pounding, he drops the cell and spins the wheel hard, angling the car into a better position. He takes a deep breath and turns off the gas. Then he picks up the cell.

"Okay," he says. "Okay." He pulls a hand through his hair. "Any idea where –"

"No," Cas says. "Where are you?"

"We need to find him," Sam says tightly. "Get your feathered ass out of that room and start looking."

"Sam-"

He hangs up and leans back in the driver's seat for a moment, inhaling the familiar scent of the car. His phone rings again and he checks the caller ID. _Dean. _He picks up.

"Where the fuck are you," the demon says.

"Looking for a demon," Sam says. Ha. Less truthfully, he adds, "You know what's gonna happen then. I'm gonna find you, and then I'm going to choke the life out of you like _that. _It'll be easy."

The demon makes a strangled noise over the line. Selfish, Sam thinks, demons are selfish, it doesn't want to die.

"It doesn't have to be that way, not if you smoke out. Just get out of Dean."

_"I can't get out," _it says. "because – whatever. Look, don't drink any goddamn blood, okay? Just, _please. _Don't do that for me."

"'Course you don't want to die," Sam says.

"Hey, what if you strangle my _actual _soul or something while you're trying to exorcise me? Not worth it, man." It chuckles weakly.

"I'm going to find you," Sam says, "I'm coming for you."

Dean's breath hisses out and Sam can practically see him dragging a hand over his mouth.

"Then I guess I'll just have to stop you," the demon says, and hangs up.

Sam drops the phone again and sits back, staring out the window. He doesn't realise he's drifted off to sleep until he rolls his head sideways to find Lucifer sitting in shotgun. He turns back to the front, too tired to curse. He never wakes up refreshed after these dreams.

"Long time, no see," says the devil. Even though Sam's eyes are shut he can see Lucifer smiling, oh so fondly. He doesn't bother to answer.

"I can't see Dean, so I don't know where he is or how to get the filth out of him," Lucifer says gently. "But you know I can help you, Sam."

"Did you do this?" says Sam. He feels exhausted. "There has to be a reason we can't get it out."

"I had nothing to do with this," says Lucifer. His face is always so relentlessly kind. "You know I'm telling you the truth, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter what you tell me."

He ignores him. "I always do, after all. But whoever it is – we can stop them, together, and change Dean back."

"If I say yes, of course," Sam says. Lucifer smiles benevolently.

"That's always been the sole condition," he says. "But to save your brother, isn't _anything_ worth it? Every single time."

When he wakes up his temples are throbbing and that smile is imprinted on his mind's eye.

You're going to find something, he tells himself, you're going to save him. And you're going to do it the right way. The way he would want. You're not making the same mistakes again, you're not just a freaking broken record with a _destiny_.

He wishes he could believe that.

x


	2. Chapter 2

_Heads up, this fic is 3 parts long. Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far!_

* * *

A few streets away from the vandalized motel room, there is a tiny lime-green Mazda parked by the side of the road. A man with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder walks up to it, and picks the lock, casual as you please, because if anyone's walking past this deserted street they're not gonna look twice at someone who looks like they're getting into a car they own. Common sense, really, in a dishonest, conman kind of way. You could say this man is a natural at that, or maybe just long practiced. He slides into the driver's seat with a grimace and ratchets it back as far as he can. Then he casually glances out the window to check for passers-by, finds no one, and gets to work fiddling with the wires.

The car finally starts with a lurch. The man shifts into second, then third, flooring the pedal as he jerks into fourth. He drives out of town hoping no one sees him driving this piece of shit because he's having enough trouble with his reputation right now as it is.

x

Dean drives for about four hours before the stolen car runs out of gas. He abandons it on the side of the road next to a cornfield, hauls his duffle bag out of the passenger seat – he doesn't like to drive with nothing in shotgun - and starts walking.

That last conversation with his brother keeps running through his head, on endless replay – the one where Sam turns his back on him, and doesn't care what he says, and just walks out that door and _leaves _again. And what really sucks – what _really sucks _is he knows Sam was completely right to do it. Dean, he thinks, trying out the concept, you're a demon. You know the type - black eyes, flinches at the name of God, Sammy's favourite snack. He wonders if he'd go back to hell if Sam managed to exorcise him.

Cas let him go, but if he's honest that's all Dean's got to go on now. If he could convince Cas, though, could he convince Sam?

It starts to get lighter and the sun begins to beat down, warm weather for this time of year. Dean adjusts the strap of the bag, which feels like it's starting to wear a groove in his shoulder, stomps particularly vengefully on a daisy growing on the side of the road, and takes stock. He's got a duffle with a few weapons and clothes. His one and only cell phone's dead because that is just how fucking fantastic his life is right now. He needs somewhere with internet, somewhere he can look up Impala sightings and track Sam down and think of someone to call who can help who won't splash him in the face with holy water - and that shit really does burn like freakin' battery acid, who knew – as soon as they see him.

"Christo," he tries muttering under his breath, and hisses. _Ow. _He can feel the black sliding down like a third eyelid. This…how did he even _get_ here, to_this_? He is too goddamn tired for this.

Dean rubs his knuckles into his forehead and keeps walking.

After a while he hears the sound of an engine rumbling in the distance and decides he's sweated through his t-shirt enough already. He wanders out to the asphalt, crushing some more innocent roadside flowers because he can and he damn well feels like it. Then he sticks his thumb out and waits.

The truck's headed away from the town _it_ happened in, which is good enough for him. Dean's satisfied when it slows as it approaches and rolls to a halt in front of him. The driver winds the window down, engine still growling idly, and sticks her head out.

"You need a ride?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Where're you headed?"

"Ah, nowhere really," he says, "just...civilisation, y'know."

"Alright," she says. "Well I'm going to visit a friend who's working in Buxton right now, so I'll take you that far. Sound good?"

Dean's already heading around the bonnet and sliding into shotgun. "Absolutely. Thanks." She shifts into first, making the engine roar, and they move off with a jolt.

"My name's Helena," the driver says after a while, breaking the silence. She's about Dean's age or younger with olive skin and muscled arms, wearing a summer dress with pink flowers on it. He might've taken a shot at hooking up if he weren't so tired right now.

"I'm Rob," Dean says, thinking it's probably better not to be rude to the person giving him a ride, or he might get dumped on his ass on the side of the road. He feels sorry for her for a moment; just figures she'd pick the hitchhiker with enough issues to literally kick-start the apocalypse. "So who're you visiting?"

"A friend of mine from college. She dropped out years ago but we kept in touch. She's got a pretty interesting life - knows about all kinds of things you wouldn't believe."

"Hmm, I can believe a lot," Dean says. He drums his fingers on the glovebox then quickly removes them when they start turning red and itching like hell. Must be plated with iron or something - that or he's allergic to the air freshener.

If Helena notices, she doesn't let on. "Huh, how's that?"

"My brother and me, we travel around. See some pretty weird shit."

"Sounds interesting. What kind of stuff?"

"Believe me, it's fascinating," Dean says, winding the window down. "You ever heard of Chatty Belle up in Wisconsin? World's largest talking cow. Makes you proud to be American, I tell you."

"Right, _that _kind of fascinating," says Helena. "Can't say I have."

There's a slightly strained silence. Dean is not in the mood for conversation.

"It's not actually a _live _talking cow," Dean adds after a moment. "Uh. It's a statue thing."

"Thanks for, uh, clarifying," Helena says. "So - you've…got a brother?"

"Sure do," Dean says.

When he doesn't go into detail she says, "I've got two younger ones. Piss me the hell off on the best of days."

"Amen to that. Mine's younger than me too, and…well."

He stares out the window a bit, and thinks eh, what the hell. And thinking isn't what he wants to be doing right now but it's not like he can help it 'cause there's this niggling doubt at the back of his head – _what if this isn't a mistake? _What if there's a demon in him, just hiding? Or worse, what if _he's _the demon, what if something made all those years of hell catch up with him and now he's just a puff of black smoke in his own meatsuit?

"We've had our share of issues. Couple of huge fights lately."

She nods slowly, eyes on the road.

"Is that why you're by yourself?"

"Yeah." He looks out at the cornfield for a moment, waving gold and obnoxiously cheerful next to the road. It starts to piss him off so he stares at the duffle resting awkwardly on his lap instead.

"What happened?"

"Forgot to take my turn with laundry one time too many."

She grins. "Oh yeah, I can believe that."

"Watch your mouth," he says jokingly. "Not all my fault, either. He's gassy as anything. I swear, they can tell on _Mars_ when he's had extra beans."

"God, I can sympathize," she says. "Like I said, got brothers."

Dean rationalizes that he's never going to see this person again after she's dropped him off, so if he keeps talking it won't count.

"Something happened that's frustrating as hell. As in…he's got every reason not to trust me on this but it still really sucks that he doesn't." He fiddles with his sleeve. As if the apocalypse wasn't enough, _this_ had to go and fuck everything up. Things weren't getting better, exactly, and he isn't really imagining a beautiful future, but things weren't heading to that garden with Lucifer at the end of the world, or Dean thinks so anyway. Things were…better than last year, at any rate. _Dean and I, we're not like we were…_

"And he's going to try and do something terrible to fix it. I can't let him. I wish he could, I dunno, just _see_ I'm telling the truth. I wish he'd just _know_. You know? So…so yeah, I guess I'm running." Dean drags a hand over his mouth and sighs. "Ah shit, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to unload my issues all over you there."

"No trouble. Got a few brother issues myself. They're having this huge fight right now. _Ideological_ differences. Thought family'd be stronger than that, but...apparently not." Her lips quirk. "You know?"

"I know," Dean says. He feels kind of open and exposed now, like he's let loose all his secrets and now they're floating around in the like skywriting somewhere in the atmosphere for anyone to find. Feeling a little panicky, he doesn't say anything else for a while, and pretends he's asleep.

After a while he actually drifts off. He can tell, because there's a voice whispering in his ear, the one that he stubbornly ignores whenever it comes to him in his sleep. It is telling him some bullshit about his filthy twisted demonic soul.

Not a demon, he says. How stupid do you think I am?

_It was only a matter of time_, the voice says. _Your own brother looked you in the eye and called you a monster, didn't he?_

He thinks I'm possessed. I know what that means, do you? It means he thinks there's a _demon _riding around in here, Einstein. So no one in this situation is to blame for any crap they may pull. You get that in your head yet?

_But you're not. Oh, Dean. Dean Dean Dean. You're as one hundred percent _you _as you've ever been._

Did you do this to me? Is that you, Zachariah, you dickbag, what the fuck?

_You're all _wrong_. Your brother's never going to believe it's you. Something about those shiny black eyes really seems to be putting him off. Bit hypocritical, honestly, but can you blame him?_

Oh, just shut up, you asshole.

_Everyone thinks you're a demon, _it says, _and who's to say you aren't? You_? _As if whatever you think has ever counted - _and it's kind of scary how he actually can't tell who thought that for a moment. _You aren't fit to be human, inside and out. What are you trying to convince Sam of? What do you expect him to believe in?_

Dean can't answer for a moment. Then he says, Us.

_What does that even mean? Here's a better idea. Say yes, Dean, and you can save the world, blemished soul or not. Say yes and you'll be wiped clean of sin. Don't you want redemption? For you _and_ your brother. This is how you save him. He doesn't have to die. Just say –_

The truck goes over a pothole and Dean jerks awake.

The sun's going down, but the heat's really starting to get to him. He shifts uncomfortably and scrabbles around in the duffle on his lap for a drink bottle, then remembers he drank it all before he got in the car. He groans and knocks his head back against the seat.

"Sorry, aircon's busted," Helena says, smiling. "You want some water?" She nods at the glovebox and Dean's so thirsty he just reaches in and grabs the bottle there, and takes a long swig. He has a delayed reaction and it takes a few moments for him to realise what he's done wrong.

The water burns like battery acid going down and he chokes on it, feeling steam like liquid fire coiling up his throat. He knows his eyes have snapped into black as he drops the bottle into the footwell, water spilling out and hissing all over his boots, and cradles his face in his hands.

Rookie mistake, taking holy water from a stranger – but then he's never been a demon before. He doesn't know the steps to this dance, everything's been turned on its head. He finds himself wishing Sam had his back right now. There's a familiar choking feeling in his gut which he's been feeling far too often since he came back from hell, even when Sam's right there.

Helena's got a gun trained on him when he surfaces, gasping for air. Her eyes are angled between him and the road and one hand's steady on the steering wheel. She's not smiling anymore.

"I know what you are," she says. "Christ, what was with that bullshit sob story about your brother?"

Dean flinches and she presses her lips together.

"You're a hunter?" he gasps as best he can with a tongue that feels like it's been left to wither and dry in the sun for a couple weeks.

"No, but my friend is. She taught me that trick." Helena's grip on the gun doesn't wobble a bit.

"Ahh, right. Awesome." He licks his lips. "Jesus. Could warn a guy."

"Don't move. As soon as we get to her you're going straight back where you came from."

Dean can't help it – he chuckles grimly. God help him, it probably sounds like a demonically mocking cackle or some shit.

"Then she shoulda told you guns don't work on demons," he says. He's just making things worse, isn't he? "You can put that down, it's not helping."

"What do you want from me?" she spits.

"I want you to at least put the safety on. I'm a safety kinda guy." Dean looks out the window. "You know, once you've got a demon in the car, threats aren't a whole lotta good. Your only weapon's rolling around at my feet. Should've dumped me out on my ass the moment I choked on that holy water."

"My friend told me a few things," Helena says. Still bluffing on an empty hand, features like stone. "So I know you demons play with your food and are fucking awesome at lying. Sorry, I'm not dropping the gun."

"Oh, your hunter friend again," Dean says. There's something weirdly enjoyable about pseudo-demonic backtalk. "You gonna tell me about her?"

"Yeah, she's real good at killing things like you."

"Is she," Dean says absently, thinking that he is 1) a demon and unkillable without certain weapons she doesn't have and 2) not a demon, just a bit of a fuckup who's not out actually out to hurt people. Well, innocent people. Well, innocent people who don't end up as unlucky collateral damage. He's been mistaken for a monster before, but he feels even less like a hero this time.

It's stupidly amusing to him how despite all that, her completely normal gun is still capable of blowing his brains out.

"Huh. Wonder if I know her. Ellen? Tamara? Jo?"

Helena's eyes twitch to the side at the mention of Jo's name. It's a subtle tell. Dean is fucking awesome at lying, though, and so he catches it.

"Jo Harvelle?" he repeats. "Awesome! Could you get her on the phone for me?"

"Not a chance in hell."

Okay. That's not good. He tries for an empathetic response.

"You know if you shoot me, you'll be killing an innocent human being?"

She snorts.

"I'm serious. Well, actually, this guy ain't so innocent, but the point remains." He leans forward. "Helena, listen. If I wanted you to be dead, _you'd be dead. _I'm just hitchhiking._"_

"And this is the last time I ever take a hitchhiker in my life," she says, then snorts out a laugh. Figures she'd be the morbid type.

Okay then. Okay. Plan A scuppered, time for Plan Oh Shit Why Am I Doing This. Play demon, he thinks. Be your inner creepy evil bastard who _will _gut you unless you are having the luckiest freakin' day of your life and then some. He's tried more than enough begging and pleading to suit his tastes, and no one's going to listen, not with these eyes of his. Dean considers saying _no more Mr Nice Guy _in a dumb voice but there's no one around who'd appreciate it.

So he reaches his left hand into his duffle and takes out what usually acts as his boot knife. He slides his arm across the space between them and presses the edge casually into the side of her thigh. Not enough to cut through pink flowered cotton and then to the skin, but enough to leave maybe a threatening dent and make him feel like an utter creeper. She flinches away, gun finally wobbling, and hisses out a breath.

He smiles at her slowly, lips pulling away from teeth, and feels his eyes snap black.

"Pull over, would you?" he says.

x

So if Dean ends up driving into Buxton in a car he really didn't want to steal, with a friend of Jo's he didn't want to piss off on his trail, what about it? It's not like he's in this job to make friends, anyway.

While the place isn't big, it's large enough for a bar, and he figures that's where Jo'll be working at the moment given her employment history. It's about nine o'clock by the time he's ditched the car outside the town's general store and jogged down to the place, which is called _Charlie's. _It's practically empty when he walks in, which is weird."

"Bad luck, we close early today," says the bartender, blonde hair tumbling down her back. She's scrubbing at a table. "See you tomorrow."

"Hey Jo," Dean says, wandering in. He picks up a dirty glass and looks at it. "Charlie's what?"

She whips around and he gives her a moment to recover, twirling the glass on the table.

"You smartass, that was so lame," she says, then takes the glass, a smile breaking out all over her face. "Hey Dean. You know, you're about the last person I was expecting to see."

"Oh," Dean says weakly. "I'm just full of surprises, huh?" He rubs a hand over his face and laughs dryly. "Oh, uh…I never did call after Duluth. I…yeah, sorry. And the War thing, that sucked. Uh…sorry."

Jo's smile twitches a little.

"Actually," Dean says, then looks around awkwardly, shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm here because of…well, it's kinda like that."

"Uh, okay," Jo says. "You want a seat?"

Dean doesn't move. "You remember thinking Sam was a demon again when he wasn't? How it was a trick?" Then he pauses. The truth, is he seriously trying the _truth? _But what's Jo going to believe?

"Yeah," Jo says slowly. "Yeah, I do. Hey, about Sam. Where is he?"

"Yeah, uh, he couldn't make it," Dean says. "Listen, you gotta hear me out. God. I need a drink. You got whiskey?"

"Do you have the cash?"

He grimaces. "Mate's rates?"

She puts a hand on her hip and tilts her head. "Okay then. One beer, huh? For the road?"

"Sure," he says, bemused. "Can't turn that down."

She goes to the fridge. He follows her up to the bar and takes a seat, watching her. Too casual, Dean's hindbrain notes, she's on edge. Does she know? Did he flash those creepy-ass hellbitch eyes of his or something?

"So, uh, how'd you find me," Jo says, trying to sound relaxed and mostly succeeding.

"I was nearby and I got a lift from a friend of yours, heard you were in town," Dean says. "Thing is, I've got this problem and. Well."

"Spit it out."

"Actually, it's…I lost Sam."

"One beer," Jo says, slamming it down in front of him, and he stops talking. He's pretty damn thirsty, never did get that drink of water. The bottle's uncapped so he grabs it by the neck and is all set to just drink it – and stops.

Rule number two of being a demon, he thinks, is probably something along the lines of _don't drink from beer bottles offered by hunters_. He awkwardly tries to pass off the motion as just playing with it, but Jo's watching him. By god is she watching him. It's starting to make him uncomfortable.

"Something wrong?" she says. "You look thirsty."

"Listen, Jo," Dean says. Oh, this is gonna suck. "I really need your help, okay? It's Sam. He – he ran off with the Impala last night."

"Did he?" Jo says.

"Yeah. I think he's either hallucinating or possessed. Or it could just be him, you know. Off to…do something drastic." It makes him sick how the last one isn't that far off.

"Which do you think he is?" Jo says

"I don't…"

"Don't worry, you won't scare me. Possessed?" she says. Her smile has gone all bright and hard on her face.

"I," Dean says, and decides to go for broke. "Yeah, yeah, probably. I need to track him down. Jo, you have to help me. I gotta save him."

"That's real kind of you," Jo says. "Dean."

Dean looks at her and grips the neck of the beer bottle. "…Jo?" he says.

"Maybe you should go," Jo says in a voice that's too even. She's backing away. He's losing her.

"Please – _Jo!" _He grabs her hand and she goes white as a sheet, jerks away. He pins it to the table, and she freezes, face twisting in panic. He can feel her pulse thundering through her wrist. Dean feels desperately awful.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Jo. You need to believe me. I need your help. I need to find Sam."

"Maybe I'd have believed you a couple of years ago," says Jo. "Before the shit hit the fan. Yeah. Maybe then."

"And not now?" he says, mouth dry.

"No, she says. "Sorry, Dean."

He closes his eyes for a moment and tips his head back, breathing out through his nose. When he opens them again, her mouth is a flat line, and then she says "Shit. Christo."

Goddamn, that hurts – he twitches reflexively. It's like a small electric shock. He looks away, but it's too late. There's a dawning expression of horror on Jo's face.

"I can –Jo, listen–" Dean dashes backwards, putting a table between them. "Okay, I lied. Sam's not possessed. But I'm not either, I promise-"

She's advancing with the bottle from the table – _fuck_, did he really let go of it? Idiot. He grabs a chair. She's strong, but if it comes to straight up grappling he's got the clear advantage -

"Is it you?" she says.

"Who do you mean?" Dean fires back, playing for time.

Jo's eyes are dark and steady. She adjusts her grip on the bottle. "Are you the same –" She swallows. "Do I know you?"

"Yes! Of course, I'm Dean, damn it -"

"Then why are you here?" she says, backing up. There'll be a shotgun behind the bar, he figures, but - she won't shoot him. Probably. Maybe. Right?

"I'm not here to hurt you," he says. "I came for help." Dean shakes his head. "Okay, it's like – War. Remember War? You thought he was a demon, and he wasn't?"

"You're wasting your time," Jo says. "What kind of help do you need from me?"

"Like I told you! I need to find Sam."

"So he's not picking up the phone, huh? He knows what you are." She shifts her grip on the bottle. "Oh, I get it. You need a hostage. _Bait."_

Now, that could – actually work.

Dean, god help him, actually considers it. Sam doesn't know he's here. Jo could do what Dean can't. It's a shitty thing to think about, but it's not like he's got a clean record to take care of and this is _Sam _they're talking about here. _Sam _he needs to find, to save.

"No – Jo, no. I need to get to him first. I –" He runs a hand through his hair. "I will not hurt you. I swear I'm not going to hurt you. Just please…"

"Listen to you?" she says. "You're a _demon, _and you're in my friend."

Friend. The word makes Dean falter slightly. He hadn't thought about or seen Jo before the War thing for a good while. He'd almost forgotten he could have friends.

Huh.

"Not like I've made a move yet," he says, spreading his arms wide. "Okay. Do your worst."

For a moment he thinks this is it, she's going to trust him, because a demon wouldn't take that chance, right? But she's moving before he even finishes talking, smashing the neck of the bottle open and hurling the water at him. Every droplet that hits him burns like hell.

'Course she can't see past the black eyes, no one else can. "No," he gasps. "No -" Damn it, he's so fucking _stupid._ He stumbles backwards. Jo advances, grabbing the rifle under the counter as she does.

Dean doesn't wait. He surges forward, shoving the table so it goes barrelling into her, sending her stumbling back. He follows it and delivers a resounding kick to her solar plexus. She's down for the count when he hauls her into a chair and takes out his knife.

He's got one more option.

"You bastard," she says, breathing shallowly, eyes wide and dark.

He shoves her against the wall, holding the knife to her throat. He breathes deep, closes his eyes. He really is sorry.

He has to sell this. She has to believe he'd do it. He opens his eyes, showing the demon for a moment, and smiles. He's done this before. He knows exactly what to say. He won't even have to try very hard. It's very easy to scare them.

"Okay, Jo. I know this is tough," he says gently. "And you know I don't wanna hurt you." For the love of god. "But you might not end up giving me a choice here. So you gotta help me out. I need you to call Sam. Find out where he is for me. Okay?"

She spits in his face. He winces and doesn't comment, then carefully reaches into her pocket. She's trembling and coming on close to hyperventilating and he thinks about 2007. Thinks about what happened with Meg. Wishes he were _anywhere_ else on the planet right now. He can feel the phone in there and he withdraws it quickly, flips it open and finds Sam in the contacts.

He puts it into her hand.

"Okay," he says. "I just wanna know where he is. Then I'll let you go. Promise. Our great big demonic plans, uh, need you alive. _Do not_ tell him where we are. I'm sure you can imagine a whole lot of reasons not to. Got me?" She's silent.

"Okay?" he prods.

"Okay," Jo echoes.

There's no point, Dean thinks, no point playing nice, it's too late. I'm no innocent anyway.

This sort of thing is just what people expect from him now.

The ringing stops.

"_Hello_?" Sam says, voice tinny on the other end. He sounds exhausted, and Dean just wants to go back to him already and make sure he gets some goddamned _sleep_, but he doesn't know if he can, he doesn't know if there's a groove like that in Sam's life for him to slip into anymore because that sort of thing, just, lately - hasn't.

"Hey," Jo says, and her voice cracks a little. "Hey."

"_Is this Jo_?"

"Yeah. Hey, Sam."

"_Oh_." Sam hesitates awkwardly. Dean can practically see him frantically trying to think of something to say. "_Uh…hi. You know, I never did apologise for that one time-_"

"Yeah," Jo says, voice tight, "don't worry about that. It's fine. I was just wondering. Um."

There's a beat and then Sam says, carefully controlled, "_Yeah, what?_"

"We haven't caught up since the thing with War," she says, "and, um, that didn't really count, so. Where are you right now?"

There's a longer pause this time.

"_Okay, sure," _Sam says. "_Why didn't you call Dean, though? I'd have figured…"_

"Didn't have his number," she says.

"_Right_," he says. "_So where are you?"_

"I'm supposed to just be getting off work. But people keep coming in at all hours, though, it's annoying - keep wanting beer when I'm closing up and then they get handsy–"

Dean tugs on her hair in warning but it's too late, she's already managed to warn him.

_"Okay," _Sam says, and pauses for a minute. Silence all round. Then –

"_He's standing right there, isn't he?"_

Dean tips his head back. Fuck.

Jo's silent.

"_It's okay,"_ Sam says. "_It's okay, just –_"

"He wants to know where you are," she says.

"_I can't - where are you?"_

"I," Jo says, voice rising - "Sam – "

_"Stay calm." _Then his voice turns harsh. _"You - can you hear me? What the fuck do you think you're doing?"_

Dean takes the phone.

"Okay, guess that didn't work out," he says. "Sam –"

"You threatened Jo," Sam says, "you son of a bitch, you had to know what happened with – is this _Meg_?"

Dean had forgotten about that, actually, entirely focussed on getting to Sam, and by the time he'd remembered it was way too late.

"No, but that doesn't matter." Jo makes a move and he slams her back into the chair. "You've got – hmm, probably until I get bored to tell me where the_fuck_ you are."

His brother breathes out.

"Okay," he says - and does, right down to the motel room number.

Dean can't tell if he's lying and that doesn't scare the shit out of him as much as it should – been there done that - and that in itself is terrifying.

"Thank, dude," Dean says, because he cannot take another minute of this, and he steps back away from Jo. "It's okay, I'm leaving. We're done here." He gives her the phone. "I'm – Jo, I'm sorry."

"Oh my god," Jo says, clutching the phone with white-knuckled hands and slumping back against the chair.

"_Jo_?" Sam's voice says loudly. "_JO! Are you okay?_ _Jo_?"

She looks at him, eyes bright and wide, and he looks back and thinks – she looks like that 'cause she knows she's got maybe a minute to live if she's really lucky, longer if she isn't. The demon who I might as well be, who everyone thinks I am – that's what it would do. She _knows._

"I'm sorry," he repeats and turns to go. Dean's nearly out the door when she speaks again, but it's into the phone.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, he's…I'm okay."

She meets Dean's eyes, and jerks her chin, mouth a tight line. _Get out_. "I'm okay," she repeats.

Sam curses loud enough for Dean to hear. "_Is he leaving?"_

"Yeah, he's –"

Dean lets the door slam shut behind him, and goes to find another car.

_Offer's still open, Dean._

Shut up.

_I'll be waiting. Just one little word._

x

It was using Jo to find his location, but didn't want him to know theirs. So it wants to find him, but it doesn't want him to find it. That means it's thinking he's going to be on demon blood. It probably doesn't want to die. It's going to want to take him by surprise.

"Yeah. He just walked out the door. He …didn't hurt me. It wasn't like last time," she says and that shuts him up for a minute. Guilt that he can't stop himself feeling is sour on his tongue.

"You do know it was screwing with you, right? Jo?"

"Yeah, I know." She pauses. "He threatened me with a knife, so."

"But you're okay?"

"Yeah, I -"

"Huh," Sam says, and ends the call.

He sits back on the bed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, and looks at the clock.

_Sam_, Lucifer says after a while.

"No," Sam says.

_Sam, this plan is ridiculous. Just –_

"You're not getting a _yes_ out of me, not from this one. Just shut up, okay?"

The Devil is silent for a moment. Then _I'm sending you something, _he says_. It should be here soon._

"I said shut up," Sam says, and finally, Lucifer does.

Sam checks the wards; devil's traps on the doorway and the ceiling, salt everywhere. He's just pacing around the room in a circle, wondering what to do next, when the ceiling light flickers.

He swallows.

There's a knock at the door. He takes out the knife and edges towards it. When he opens it, he blinks.

That's…definitely not Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean floors the gas pedal and tries to ignore the fact that he doesn't have the slightest fucking clue what he's doing. Find Sam, he'd thought, find Sam and you can stop him, except now Sam knows he's coming and he'll be getting ready and - he really doesn't want to know what 'getting ready' is going to entail. That thing with Jo had always had a really good chance of turning out like that, but he'd hoped it wouldn't.

Technically he also doesn't know if Sam is even going to be there, at the place he'd said, whether he'd just completely made it up; but it is literally all he's got to go on, and, well, there's always the chance that Sam was telling the truth, the chance that he's waiting there for Dean with black eyes and hand outstretched, or something.

The idea of going there, to Sam, sends a strange feeling through him. He's a demon, damn it. Somehow, for some reason, everyone thinks that's what he is. And he's gotta admit it unnerves him when they look at him and see something no one's never seen in him - even when he was a serial killer he was still _human_. Now, there's nothing about him that'll make people think he's worth something. And he's heading back to Sam, who is finally looking at him and seeing what's really there - not a hero, not a saviour, not even an awesome big brother, just a fuckup of a drunk depressed demon. Like he's been hiding all his crap for so long he can't even remember why, and now he doesn't have to, 'cause everyone else can just _see_ now. It's almost _validating_ somehow.

Well, that's depressing.

He goes and buys a bottle of water at a gas station. He contemplates firing a round into the ceiling and just walking out with it – he's not him, after all - but he didn't actually want to terrify the poor checkout kid and probably draw the attention of the police. He chugs down the water in a series of huge gulps, taking hasty breaths in between, and then gets a can of beer and downs that too. He is actually too sober for this.

Dean gets back in the car and drives some more.

He wonders what he's going to do when he gets there, because after a while you have to come up with some kind of plan better than 'walk in and hope for the best'. Sam deserves better than that, even after everything. He should have someone who can stop him from fucking up _properly_. And he snorts because that's funny, really, his priorities, in which Sam can deserve that and not Dean's trust, because that says something about what Dean's trust is worth.

Okay, what does he have to counter a demon-powered psychic? The demon knife would be a start. Sam has it. The Colt would be nice too. Ha ha ha. Shotguns? Nope. Holy water - useless against Sam, hopefully. A knife, he's got one regular old knife and in the end the only thing he can use it for is bluffing. He doesn't know about Sam, but Dean's not about to kill his brother if he can save him first.

The only weapons he has against Sam's demonic _thing_, he realises, are Bobby's panic room - which he doesn't have - and Sam's guilt, his resolve not to do it again. Well, look where that went.

"Hey, Cas," he says aloud. "Could use some help."

Radio silence.

"You must believe it's me now, right? I didn't hurt Jo, you saw that, didn't you? I'm just heading for Sam now. To stop him from doing something really fucking stupid. Again."

Nothing.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Here," Cas says from right next to him.

"Do," Dean says evenly after he's jerked the car back on the road, "not - do- that."

"What?"

"That. Don't do it."

Cas shakes his head. "No, _you_ - don't say things like that, please."

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't. I think –" Cas swallows. "You're not Dean."

"Oh," Dean says. Oh, well. Fan-freakin'-tastic. "Weren't you watching me?"

"I saw," Cas says. "It wasn't that I would not intervene, but -"

"Then what the fuck, Cas, what the fuck." Dean slams the heel of his hand into the steering wheel. "You're not gonna believe me either, then? You know what's at stake. I can't believe this." It would be nice if he could ever, ever get some freakin' _benefit of the doubt_.

"I cannot harm you, or move you, or speak to you in the presence of others," Cas says, seemingly ignoring him, his jaw set. "Your - _sponsor_, for want of a better word, seems to have prevented me from touching you with my power in any way. You're safe."

"Why won't you believe me then," Dean says. "Just - I need someone -"

"Demons tell nothing but lies," Cas says. "You're a demon. I should not have let you go."

"No," says Dean. He watches the road, keeps the wheel in a relaxed grip. "No, you shouldn't have. God, you're naïve."

Castiel licks his lips. Dean keeps talking.

"Yes, demons fucking _lie. _So why the fuck did you ever believe a word I said, you _idiot? _Too late now, anyway."

It starts to rain, a gentle patter of drops on the windscreen.

"So I look at you all pretty, do some sweet-talking, and you think – oh, he sounds like he believes what he's saying. He sounds like he's gonna save his brother. Do some good. So you put everything aside and you help me. You go out of your way to _let me go _and – I can't even figure out why. Because I'm just gonna let you down. Being a demon and all. And that, Cas? That is just _sad."_

Cas hisses in a breath and sounds like he's about to say something. Dean doesn't look; he wants to apologise, but then he feels like that a lot of the time and doesn't actually do it much, so. Not really any different. He's a demon anyway.

Castiel vanishes out of the corner of his eye before he can.

"For Christ's sake," Dean mutters, hissing as he feels his eyes go black, and keeps driving into the outskirts of the town Sam's in, well aware that he still actually doesn't have a plan. Which he feels just _awesome_ about, thanks.

He thinks about Sam, and he thinks about what his brother would be willing to do to save him. Then he thinks about his own limits, where he draws the line, where he stops letting his brother go down that road, and tightens his grip on the steering wheel and drives some more.

x

Dean stops by the convenience store opposite Sam's motel. The lights flicker as he's coming out the door and he thinks, shit. That had better not be what I think it is, because that would be the last thing I need right now. Seriously. The fucking _last thing._

He takes out the silver knife and goes into the shop. The lights go off, and then on again. The woman at the counter frowns and puts down her crossword.

Dean goes to the counter. "Christo," he says to her.

"I'm sorry?" she says.

Oh, Dean thinks. Then this is - this is me. Well. Awesome.

He's just checking out the chewing gum rack when he hears someone coming into the store.

"Hey, get the hell away from her!"

"What?" the counter lady says, looking up, startled, and then at Dean.

Dean whips around.

"Well, damn it," he says.

"This guy threatened me and stole my car," Helena says, striding forward. "Has he talked to you at all?"

"I – no," the woman says, reaching under the counter. Dean doesn't finger the knife in his jacket, that'd let them know he's considering it, and he doesn't want to show off right now.

"Hey, Rob," Helena says, smiling like a shark. It sits strangely on her face. "Nice to see you again."

"Helena, you – did you speak to Jo? Tell me you went to Jo's!"

"I decided I should probably find that demon who _stole my car_ first," she says. "Thanks for running it dry, by the way."

"You got here pretty fast, then," Dean says, heart pounding.

"Did you say he's a, uh, demon?" the other woman says, hesitating at the phone in her hand. Dean perks up.

"Yeah, she thinks I'm a demon who wants to kill her," he says in his most reassuring voice. "Forgot her meds." He turns to walk out the door, but Helena blocks his path. The lights flicker again, somehow menacing.

"You should probably get maintenance in," Dean says, and pushes her aside and walks out onto the street.

She follows him all the way into the deserted carpark.

"You seem pissed about something," she says.

"Hey, I wasn't exactly hoping to run into you."

"Not your lucky day, huh?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Dean says. "I dunno, people keep saying I'm a demon. It sucks."

"In my experience," Helena says, "well-intentioned hitchhikers don't pull knives on the driver."

"I had to get you to pull over," Dean snaps, not sure why he's in this argument. "Why are you still here?"

"Does it make a difference? If you're not a demon, why're you acting like one?"

"I'm, uh, trying my best."

"I can believe that, if that's really your _best," _she says. "Good people don't threaten their friends with knives, Dean, they don't have black eyes."

_Dean._

Dean stops walking, face frozen. His thoughts are looping around on _ohshitohshitohfuckshitshitsh it. _He starts up again quickly but it's too late. She looks at him and stops as well and sighs.

"Damn," Helena says, eyes like black holes in her head. "I had you going there for a bit, didn't I?"

"How long?" he grits out.

She shrugs. "After you ditched her and ran off with her car, she was feeling a bit down about life. You left her all wide open for me, Dean. I wasn't headed for you, actually, but I screwing with you is, like, legendary entertainment downstairs."

"Guess I'm not seeing the fun factor," he says.

"Your loss," she says sweetly.

"What do you want, anyway?"

"Didn't I just tell you? Screwing with you is awesome. And you're in a bit of an…_interesting_ pickle right now. Where's Sam, hmm?" Her eyes widen maliciously in a way that doesn't suit her face at all. "Oh, he thinks you're one of us. You've got the nice shiny set of black eyes to match your soul."

"You shut your mouth," Dean says tiredly.

"That's not very creative. I'm disappointed."

"Right back atcha," Dean mutters, and starts walking away. She takes his wrist in an iron grip and slaps him across the face.

"Be polite. Now tell me - where is the big guy, anyway?"

"And I should tell you why?"

"Because I wanna _know_, dear. Why else?"

"Oh, I get it," Dean says. "You're a_ present. _Lucifer or someone else?"

"Not telling _you_."

"So why should I tell you anything? Are you gonna kill me?"

"No," she says, taking her hands out of her pockets and grinning. "Too boring. You know what I mean, right? From what I can tell, we're not that different."

Dean looks away.

He's actually totally expecting the blow to the head, in his defense, and she hits really, really hard. He goes sprawling. He's on his hands and knees immediately, scrambling to his feet, but then she kicks him in the stomach and he stumbles back. She kicks him again and that sends him back to the ground, wheezing. Hand to hand with a demon, fantastic. He's painfully hauling himself on his elbows when she effortlessly slams him back down with just a look, so that beatdown was just for the fun of it, apparently, and he's never going to get over how they do that (how _wrong _it is when Sam does that). He looks around, but no one's there to see.

Helena kneels down, straddling him, and bends to whisper in his ear. "Tell me," she says, "where he is."

"Oh, but you were just getting funny," he manages.

She reaches back down, takes his hand and digs the edge of her thumb into the nail-bed of his index finger. He hisses.

"Odds are he'll win the fight," the demon says frankly. "I'm not an idiot. Just tell me where he is."

Dean just laughs.

"Do you have _any_ idea what's going on here?" he says.

She punches him in the face. That'll be a nice black eye, he thinks.

She grins. "Yeah, actually. And you're adorable." She reaches to her neck and traces down the jugular. "Take it from me, I'm pretty tasty."

He rolls his eyes. "Sam's not gonna get the chance to find out."

She smiles. "Oh, but he is. He's in the motel opposite, isn't he?"

"I'm not gonna play games with you, okay? Stop screwing around. If you think he's there, knock yourself out, but get _off _me."

"Why'd you stop here, Dean."

"Had to take a piss."

"Yeah, and because Sam's right across the street. We're gonna have a little catchup. And he's gonna drink me dry." She strokes his cheek creepily.

"You have a lot of faith in that," Dean says.

"And you don't?" she says, sounding amused. He can't find an answer.

She finally gets off him then, thank god. Then se kicks him viciously in the balls - and then takes out her gun and smacks him in the temple with it (but that barely registers really). That _bitch –_

x

"Hi," the woman says, and smiles widely.

Sam doesn't bother with pleasantries. "Christo." And, as expected…

"You were expecting me, huh?" The demon sounds proud of herself.

"What do you want?"

"I'm here to help," she says.

"Help," Sam says, and flips the knife in his hand.

"Oh, yeah," she says. "Definitely the fun kind of help."

"You guys aren't this self sacrificing."

"Some of us manage."

Sam rolls his eyes, grabs her by the collar and holding the knife to her throat, scuffs the salt line and drags her inside.

"That's not polite," she gasps. He dumps her in the devil's trap and stands back. "Aren't you going to do anything interesting?"

"Yeah," he says. "I'm gonna prove a point."

"To the demon in Dean?" she says. "How?"

"Sit still and shut up."

"You're gonna drink me, you know," she says, stretching. "You can't actually resist. Go on, say you won't."

Sam ignores it.

x

The woman from the convenience store is shaking Dean's shoulders. He blinks up at her foggily. What…

"Hey, hey, you alright?"

"Yeah," he gets out. "Thanks." Rubbing his forehead, he groans and sits up, trying to remember what happened.

…Oh. _Shit. _

"Well goddamn it," Dean says, though he thinks it comes out a bit less coherently than he intended. He gets to his feet. Has he got a concussion?

"Have you got a concussion?" the woman asks.

"Fuck if I know," he says, and starts walking.

"Wait – sir!" But he doesn't look back.

Demon got away. Demon's heading for Sam. Sammy. Sam's going to drink the demon dry, because Sam thinks he needs to save Dean, and Sam thinks that's how he has to do it. And nothing's going to stop him now, because he's done it before, and to hell with what Dean actually wants.

He crosses the road without checking for traffic.

(Sam promised he wouldn't.

He's promised before, though.)

Room six, Sam said. That's where he's going. That's where the demon went. That's what the demon wants. It wants Sam on demon blood again, perfect little skin for Lucifer, Dean broken before he dies. And isn't that going to be fun.

The street lights flicker, tapping on and off, but he doesn't watch. He stands in front of room six, and he reaches out and he knocks on the door.

When it opens, Sam's there, filling it up. Dean, shamefully, can't tell at a glance whether he's high or not.

He licks his lips and swallows. "Hi," he says.

Sam steps aside a little, and Dean sees the devil's trap - sees Helena. No visible wounds.

"Hi, Sammy," he says again.

"Well," Sam says after a moment, something twitching in his jaw, "you're here."

"Looks like it," Dean says.

"You know what's gonna happen now, right?" Sam says.

Dean nods twice, turns away, drags a hand over his mouth. Then turning back, he says "Sam, don't you - don't you _dare_," and he punches Sam in the face.

Sam staggers, cupping his nose, and flails out but Dean hits him again. "Don't – just. Don't." Sam hits him back and he rolls with it, then kicks Sam in the stomach twice, and Sam goes stumbling back, trips and falls on his ass. Sam's not fighting as well as he could, like Dean knows from bitter experience that he can. He's still waving the knife around but it's just show and it's nice, really, that Sam's not going to kill him over a few punches, but not that surprising, and Dean just has to push farther. He's a little suicidal like that. So sits on Sam and punches him again, in the jaw, half-hopes it won't hurt too much.

"Not my brother," Sam says, staring at the ceiling, and Dean thinks, no, no, don't you say that to me. But he isn't Sam's brother right now, this isn't Dean, Dean _doesn't do this_. What is he doing? He is overcome by sudden vertigo and leans forward dizzily, gripping Sam's shoulders.

"Hey, that's pretty hot," Helena comments.

"Sam," Dean says. "Sam."

Very quietly, Sam says, "are you gonna kill me?"

Dean breathes, in and out. His arms shudder slightly. He slides his hands along Sam's shoulders and they meet in the middle. He curves his fingers around his brother's neck, his thumbs crossing. He wonders crazily how far he can go, where's the limit, just when does Sam realise that Dean's not worth this.

He breathes in and he breathes out, very calmly. He can feel his brother's throat working under his thumbs as Sam swallows. He presses down experimentally. Sam just lies there and looks at him.

esus Christ, Dean thinks, and again his eyes show what he's beginning to suspect is really there.

He breathes in, and out, and in, and out again. I won't let him, he thinks. I can't. This is how far it goes, no farther. I can't let him cross that line again, 'cause maybe he won't ever come back, this time for real .

Take care of your brother, he thinks. This is me, doing my job.

Sam's breathing is slow and even under his hands.

x

After a while, Dean wets his lips and looks away, then looks back down.

"Sam," he says.

"Yeah," says Sam. "What." He's still holding the knife. His arm is free, but he's not moving it.

"You're not gonna kill me," Dean says.

Sam says, "oh, I really am. If I don't save you first."

Don't try talking to the demon, Dean thinks. Idiot. He draws back one arm, clenching his hand into a fist.

_Only if he can't save him first. _

Sam doesn't do anything. He's just looking at him. Dean realises that he thinks he deserves whatever he gets.

And Dean thinks, he wants to save me, right, but he's not even doing that, but he's not trying to kill me either. And he thinks, how did we get here? Were we - always meant to end up here? How did I let it come to this? and he thinks, why is it always so goddamned hard just to do right by my brother. Why is everything always in our way. Why can't I just – trust him anyway.

I mean, what happened to benefit of the doubt?

Dean looks at Sam, and then he looks at Helena, and he looks at the ceiling. (It looks like most other shitty motel ceilings he's seen in his time, nothing remarkable.) And he looks at _his_ hand, _his _fingers – not any demon's, his own pale fingers curled around Sam's neck. Dean knows this because he can feel Sam's breathing, feel his heartbeat. And Dean – Dean makes a choice.

_Gotta start somewhere._

He feels his fist uncurl where it's raised, and drops it. It's okay now, right? he thinks. It's okay, and if it isn't, well - I am going to _make_ it okay.

He lets go of Sam's neck and sags back.

Sam tenses – then lunges forward and throws him off, and Dean puts in a bit of token resistance, but that's not really what he's going for. He falls back. Sam staggers to his feet, breathing hard, steps backwards into the devil's trap and wraps his huge arms snug against Helena, holding the knife to her neck.

Dean's still lying there, back against the wall, blood painting his mouth coppery red, and he watches as Sam drags up Helena's arm and slices it crossways.

"Get out of him," Sam growls. He's trembling, barely able to keep his knife hand steady. His nostrils are flared and his pupils are blown. Dean watches as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He wants it alright, probably so badly he can almost taste it.

Dean says, "Doesn't matter. You're not gonna drink that."

He can see Sam falter, nearly stop breathing. His eyes are wide and Dean can see his little brother there.

"Sorry about the creepy choking, man," Dean says. "But – I changed my mind." Believe in him. Believe in him, let him believe in –

"Get out of him or you're going to die_," _Sam says.

Dean shrugs. "Well, I know you're not gonna stab me. And I know," he says, "I _know_ you're not drinking that blood. Weren't ever going to. You've been bluffing all along, right?" You goddamned clever son of a bitch, little brother, Sammy, Sam. Don't you dare prove me wrong.

He gets to his feet, painfully, holding his hands in the air. Sam's hand slips and a line of blood wells up on Helena's neck.

"Oh, you're confident," Sam says. "Doesn't matter. I'm giving you _one more chance. _That's all."

"And I'm not taking it," Dean says.

Sam shifts his feet, looks around wildly, and Dean walks forward and meets Sam's gaze eye to eye.

" Sammy," he says. "I'm sorry." He doesn't know what colour his eyes are now, but really, he's trying not to let it matter. "And I know you're not drinking that. So go ahead." He shrugs with one shoulder. "Do your worst."

"You really, really don't know that," Sam says, but he's looking rattled, lips pulled back over teeth in that grimacing way he has, shoulders heaving.

"Guess I don't," Dean says, "guess I can't - but I _believe_ it, Sam. I really, really do."

Sam looks at the knife. And he raises his head again and stares at him.

Dean just looks back.

Sam says, "Dean?" in a small voice, so despairingly hopeful it would make Dean want to cry if he did that kinda girly shit. Just like that. Dean doesn't think he deserves faith like that. But it feels pretty nice all the same.

"One and freakin' only," he says. "No hard feelings, right?"

x

Sam opens his mouth to say he's _sorry, _he's screwed up again, because this is Dean – he knows it is, it has to be – and he didn't believe him when he should have, could have, wanted to. That, of course, is when the demon sighs loudly, elbows him in the stomach harder than he thought possible, and hooks her leg around his knees and sends him sprawling. Dean shouts but she's already sitting on his back, throwing Dean against the wall with a thought. Sam remembers sickly when he used to be able to do that.

"Don't stand inside a devil's trap _with the demon_, idiot," the demon says, digging a knee into the small of his back. Sam gasps and rolls backwards, trying to throw her off, but hisses when this strains at the stitches in his side.

Seems like an enterprising demon because she notices, and reaches a hand up under his shirts, and smooths her fingers along the skin of his side. Dean calls out again but she ignores him and finds the stitches and _pulls. _Sam lets out a grunt.

"You can do better than that," she hisses and digs her fingers into his side. _Fucking OW. _Cas_, _he thinks, now would be a_ really good time-_

Sam knows when the angel's suddenly standing in the room because the demon hisses and pinches something in his side and it _hurts _oh god. She grabs his shirt (and his other shirt, and his jacket) and pulls them up, putting the oozing wound on display.

"Take a step closer – " she warns, and tugs on the stitches for emphasis.

"Sam, do you mind?" Cas says.

"Fucking _yes, _don't touch him," Dean shouts, and oh, he's sounding guilty again. Sam'll have to work on that.

"No," Sam growls, raising his head. "Get over here."

Cas nods. "Okay," he says, and walks forward.

The demon rips all the stitches and white-hot tearing pain blossoms in his side. Sam lets out a strangled cry, and barely notices when the demon's dead, its host left slumped unconscious there on top of Sam with bloody suture thread in her hand, fingers still half in his side.

Then he lays his head back on the lino floor, and thinks, sleep would be nice. Yeah. Sleep would be great_. _Sleep would be one-hundred-percent fucking _awesome_.

"You know what?" Dean says after a while. "I could really use a drink."

Sam hears Cas walking over to him, footsteps reverberating through his head.

"The demon's…gone," the angel says.

"Yeah, Zach's not happy," Dean says, and sighs. "I mean he pulled the plug on his plan, was pretty loud about it too. There was no demon. Should've listened to me."

"…_What_," Cas says.

"Cas, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I was just mad at…I don't know. Not you."

"I. I see," the angel says, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm sorry. Um."

Sam hazily wonders what's going on there. The footsteps come closer again and the weight on his back shifts and disappears.

"Helena," Dean rasps. "Is she alright?"

"The host? She's alive," Cas says. "I'll take her to Bobby's."

"Take her to Jo," Dean says. "Jo Harvelle. She'll be at Charlie's tomorrow night, probably. Buxton. This state."

"…Charlie's what?" Cas says.

"Who knows," Dean says, and tips his head back, and laughs.

He's happy, Sam thinks. Dean, he's laughing. That's good. We're good. It's okay.

x

Sam is really reluctant to stand up when Dean shakes him awake, but he does anyway, thankfully. They clean up, bandage Sam, check out, and get in the Impala. Dean sinks into the driver's seat with a drawn-out sigh of relief, and starts the car. Outside, the sky's lightening.

"I cannot freakin' _wait_ until the weather cools down a bit," he says.

"I just wanna get out of here," Sam mutters.

Dean nods. He knows what Sam means -and isn't that a nice feeling.

He floors the pedal and just drives. It's kinda nice this time to not really know where he's going, apart from _out of here._

"Time was," he says after a while, "you'd kick my ass for beating on you like that."

Sam's silent.

"You know it was me, right? Can't blame a demon or anything."

Sam shrugs.

"I know you're not exactly a saint, Sam, I mean – neither am I – but. I mean, you…didn't deserve that, I was - a dick," Dean says. "I'm – sorry."

"Hey, don't worry. Apologise to Cas," Sam says, and Dean hears under that, _someone who deserves things like apologies. _"Seemed like you two had…_something_ going on."

"Yeah," Dean says. "I was, uh, pretty much a dick to him too." He'll have to talk to him properly later. That won't be awkward at all, nope.

"I should have believed you," says Sam. "I mean, I didn't give you a lot of options." He pauses. "I'm sorry, man."

Dean nods. "Hey, thanks. Doing your job, though. I don't blame you." It's okay, he thinks. You believed me at the end, when I finally let you. I think – I needed that.

"You know," Sam says, "I – I wasn't going to drink it. At all. That was never the plan."

Dean nods. There's silence for a while, just the hum of the road flashing by. The sun's peeking over the horizon, just like the thousand other times he's driven at dawn, and somehow this time it's easier to pretend things are like they were then. He reaches for a tape and slides it in. Maybe he'll even strike lucky and Sam will bitch about it. He really does miss that.

"But I wanted to," Sam says. "At the end. God, I – really, really did."

"But you weren't _going_ to," he says, chancing a glance away from the road. He sees a grin tug at the corners of Sam's eyes.

"I might have," he says.

"Dude, don't test me."

Sam ducks his head, still smiling. "Thanks, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean says. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

It's turning out to be a pretty nice day, he thinks.

x

**END**

_Thanks for reading, guys! Hope you enjoyed it, and it'd be fabulous if you could let me know what you thought. If you've got questions, or if I didn't make something clear enough and you're confused, go ahead and ask me. Thanks again!_


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